


Shameless

by ChromeHoplite



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Ciel throws himself a bachelor party, Cum Fetish, Demon Sebastian Michaelis, Licking cum off shoes, M/M, Rimming, SebaCiel - Freeform, Sebastian cums on command, brat ciel, face fucking, i don't think i've ever written something with so much cum, it's not like 50 shades red room, sebastian has a red room, sebastian in only glasses a tie and leg garters, smart ass sebastian, stripping sebastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:34:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26331988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChromeHoplite/pseuds/ChromeHoplite
Summary: Ciel throws himself a bachelor party the night before his wedding to Lizzie.Sebastian is the entertainment.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 34
Kudos: 175





	Shameless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CimmerianShade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CimmerianShade/gifts).



The manor is bursting with guests. Fires are lit in every chamber to keep the Midfords and various dignitaries comfortable on this frigid December evening. 

Once the clock strikes three, I leave my room, still fully dressed in what Francis calls "attire befitting of a proper earl". The door shuts behind me with the tiniest of clicks that seems to carry the sound from the east wing to the west. I stride purposefully down the hall, my feet barely a whisper on the carpet in search of that damned butler. The tips of my fingers slide along the wall and I count each door I pass, imagining the chamber's occupants slumbering, peacefully unaware of what I have planned on the eve of my dreaded nuptials. 

In keeping with our charade, the butler has a room on the ground floor with the other servants, but he never spends his evenings there. Relieved of his duties, my demon lingers somewhere between this reality and another, in a blood red room, festooned to his liking. It contains the rarest artifacts, works of art thought long gone and original manuscripts. Fossils and ancient bones litter an ornate marble desk, half-assembled, half-scattered as if they are a puzzle to be solved. Clocks line the seven walls, some telling time, while others measure electromagnetism, quantum mechanics and subatomic histories, just to name a few. Quite a big to-do, the demon often reminds me, especially when most of the concepts measured by his clocks won’t be discovered by humans for years. 

Yet despite all this, Sebastian is by far the most interesting object in this room; that is to say, if objects are defined as things to be used. 

The challenge, of course, is locating this room, for it is never in the same place twice. But there are hints: a subtle glow from under the door, a handle too hot to touch, vertigo if one lingers too long, a subtle surge of insanity...

Two floors yield nothing, until my senses are abruptly benumbed by the most seductive melodies. I stand there entranced, then my fist comes up to knock. Before I’m able, the door is wrenched open. 

"My lord, shouldn't you be sleeping?" Sebastian asks, tone haughty as ever. His brow quirks knowingly.

"You bloody heard me trying to find this cursed room for the last fifteen minutes." I push my way through, hand brushing the butler's chest as I go by. The contact is not at all tender. It holds a distinctive air of frustration, coupled with a need to subjugate. 

To control. 

I traipse across the room to an enormous hearth. My elegant heels are enigmatically muffled against the flagstone floor. A crackling blaze of black flames engulfs the echoes of silence between master and the butler. 

I let myself fall into a plush armchair and put my feet up on the devil's ottoman. The chair's left armrest supports a thick book turned over, having been read up to somewhere near the middle, while the right armrest balances a stack of notes bearing freshly inked symbols - indecipherable demonic shorthand. The book in question, _Voyage of the Beagle_ , is spread across my lap as I quickly sift through, noticing all the corrections the demon has made to Darwin's observations . 

"To what do I owe this visit?" Sebastian asks without any honorifics. 

I cock my head, waiting. 

"My lord," Sebastian finishes. Despite his courteous timbre, his stance is impatient. This is _his_ time, after all. His relaxed attire: no tailcoat, loosened tie, rolled up sleeves and unnecessary glasses speak to that fact. 

Choosing to match the demon's aesthetic, I unbutton my shirt, something I’d begun to practice some months ago. If Sebastian notices, he pretends otherwise. He sighs and leans in to assist me. 

"Don't touch me," I snap, slapping his hand away playfully. 

Sebastian's hands hover for a moment. Then, he’s upright again, quietly standing before me, ever the dutiful butler awaiting an order. 

"There," I say somewhat proudly once my chest is exposed. I keep my shirt on, but I feel the heat climbing in the room. Either because the demon graciously chooses to accommodate my comfort or because a flush spreads over my bare torso. The thought of it makes me shiver and pebbles my nipples. I pretend I don't notice. 

"Did I interrupt your evening, Sebastian?"

He cannot lie. 

"Yes, my lord." 

"Good." I stretch my legs out on the ottoman. The buckle on my shoes glimmers in the fire light. I admire them indifferently if only to avoid Sebastian's eyes. The confidence with which I entered the devil's lair is quickly waning.

If Aristotle is correct and we are what we repeatedly do, then I am a tyrant. A despot whose second nature is to give contemptuous orders to his butler. In my defense, Sebastian seems only too keen to take them, either out of amusement, aesthetic or habit. I’ve never really cared enough to ask. 

And so, when I tell him to remove his shirt, he complies without batting a lash, as if this is a frequent request (I assure you, it's not). 

"And take your time," I add, sinking deeper into his favorite armchair. My legs spread comfortably, upsetting the book on my lap, but not enough to make it fall.

"Is there a reason for this, my lord?" He asks. His cheek twitches once in a repressed smile. 

For some reason this irritates me. I ignore his question. "Leave your tie on." 

He nods curtly, keeping his glowing eyes on me, not having to look at his buttons to unfasten them. He simply feels his way down the placket of his shirt, in the same way the blind read braille, but with none of the effort. I think it's this ease that infuriates me the most. How does such an unnatural being make everything appear so beautifully mundane? 

"Turn around," I say the moment his shirt hits the floor. I'm stiffening already. Damn it all. I can hardly be faulted. Our trysts are always clothed, fast affairs. Not the kind that requires undressing. 

Seeing so much of his flesh at once nearly pushes the breath from my lungs, but I trap it behind my lips, positioning the book against my groin. Uncomfortable. Undetectable. Still, it aches. 

“What now, my lord?” Sebastian asks. I can see him looking back at me through the shiny glare of oil splattered on Goya’s _Witches’ Sabbath_ \-- or perhaps he’s simply admiring himself again. 

Regardless, I don’t need to see his face to know he’s having a laugh at my expense. While I hold my breath, he holds his own for different reasons. I see his restraint in the momentary tightness of his broad shoulders. Then they drop and I’m faced with the perfect taper of his waist, the sharply defined muscles of his back. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have assumed him to be a labourer who toils all day in a field. 

I snort. His vanity knows no limit. 

“My lord?” The demon asks again. 

I clear my throat. “Don’t rush me, Sebastian. I’ll tell you when I’m good and ready.” I let him stew an additional minute before giving my next order. “Remove your trousers. And stay facing the wall as you are now.” 

“Of course," he says simply. 

His hands move to the front and with each button he unfastens, his trousers fall lower on his hips. My chin inclines as if it somehow speeds up this farce. It doesn’t. 

As his trousers pool around his ankles, I look away; an unfortunate habit I acquired as a Victorian noble. My cheeks burn. My cock throbs against the cotton of my shorts, under the weight of my butler’s book. 

“May I remove my shoes, young master?” Sebastian says; which is odd, since the demon usually seems to think it easier to ask for forgiveness than it is for permission. 

“If you absolutely must.” My words are impatient. Biting, even. I don’t give a bleeding fuck about his shoes when the rest of him is on display. His skin is immaculate, unmarred porcelain. Not a bruise. Not a blemish. He does not look like the stone statue I've imagined so many times in the dark. He's blood-warm and perfection is truly his only human flaw. 

Sebastian takes my sharp tone as a challenge. Rather than toeing off his shoes, the fabric of his trousers merely dissolve from his person. He's left in his footwear, along with his socks, garters and tie. 

“Turn around,” I command. 

He does so shamelessly. Glasses still pushed up on his nose. 

“Remove my eyepatch.” I want to admire my servant with both eyes. 

Sebastian leans in and the heat from his skin rolls off in a most delicious way. My mouth waters at the inhuman muskiness he possesses, familiar from our previous engagements, but more intense. 

“Is the young master pleased with what he sees?” He whispers, damp against my ear as his fingers deftly pull the string. His silk tie teases my bare skin and I shiver. 

If he removes the book from my lap, he would know. A wet spot is growing as my prick swells. As it throbs maddeningly. 

“It’s no less than I expected, to be honest.” I shrug, examining my fingers as if they are the most interesting thing in the room. Small. Slender. Enough to wrap around my own member, but not the butler’s. Even flaccid as he is. “You look human enough, but your body doesn’t respond as such?” 

“Whatever do you mean?” Sebastian draws back, stands before me, relaxed in his stance. 

I want to touch him. To show him what I mean. To fall back on my instincts to guide me. Hands up his chest, over his shoulders, down his arms. Revelling in the hard, tight musculature flexing in response to my eagerness. Warm. Smooth. Taut. His body exquisitely carved and sculpted. A thin thatch of hair from navel to pubic area. 

Instead, I glower at him, staring pointedly at his cock. 

He laughs. “I’m not aroused, my lord. You know how it works; we’ve been over this in lessons, have we not?” 

Pestilent horned beast! He could put his mouth to better use in so many other ways. 

His mocking tone strengthens my resolve. I drop the book unabashedly from my lap, ignoring my own erection. Eyes locking with the demon’s I tell him, “I don’t care about your arousal, Sebastian. I want your cock standing at attention.” 

“Very well,” he intonates, his sigiled hand about to make a fist around the impressive girth. 

“Without touching yourself.”

“Naturally.” He gives me a nod and the corners of his mouth twitch. 

The heavy thing thickens and as it grows, the foreskin peels back. The head glistens the same colour as the butler’s decadent lips. The tip is wet with fluid, slicking Sebastian’s shaft as it runs down. 

It’s intimidating. 

And arousing. 

“You’re making a mess of the carpet,” I inform him. It’s his carpet, what do I care? 

“Apologies, my lord.” Immediately, his cock no longer leaks the clear pearls. 

“I want you to make an even bigger mess of it.” 

He tilts his head to the side. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I want you to come where you stand. Untouched.”

“Onto the floor?”

I change my mind abruptly and shake my head. “No. Once you’re close, I’ll point and you’ll obey.” 

“Indeed.” His brows rise. The inflection of this singular word lowers seductively and I’ve come to think of it as the equivalent of the demon’s purr. 

“Begin.” 

Sebastian purses his lips as I watch intently. An audience of one and he’s about to put on a show. I can tell. 

It starts with an almost imperceptible shift in his demeanour. In the way his eyes bore into me. Hunger disguised as lust. He’s appraising me. Counting my heartbeats as they drum in his ears. 

His breath comes more quickly. His brows furrow. At his sides, his fingers curl to fists. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips which curl, allowing his fangs to make an appearance. The colour of his cock changes, darkens from blood-filled to bruised and black. 

And then he groans. A noise at the back of his throat. Deep. Primal. 

I have to touch myself. I push the tent of my shorts down. My toes curl in my shoes. I bring my knees up on the ottoman so my legs can spread wider. I’m warm. I’m wet. I’m hard. So hard. 

I know it’s unnecessary. All of it: the muscles tightening in his abdomen. The twitching of his cock. The dripping of pre-cum onto his rug.

“Master?” 

He’s ready. And not a moment too soon. I nod to my shoes. 

Sebastian understands. He always understands. 

He closes the distance between us and with one stroke, spends on my shoes in thick, silky spurts. It coats the shiny veneer of my Oxfords, the laces and the soles. 

I examine it, twisting my ankle this way and that, careful not to show him that I’m impressed. It smells authentic. It reeks of sex and sin. The way my study usually does once we’re done. 

Sebastian waits. I’m not sure what for. Praise? His next order? I wonder idly if he’s enjoying himself nearly as much as I am? I almost ask. 

“You’ll need to clean this up, Sebastian.” 

“Yes, my lord,” he says, bending to pick up his shirt. 

“Not with that,” I interrupt. My cheek lifts in a half-smile. 

“How does the young master suggest I clean shoes soiled with the demon’s seed?”

“The same way a dog would.” I point the toe of my shoe toward the demon and prompt him, “Before it cools, Sebastian.” 

He takes my ankle into his hands. It’s so small in comparison. As delicate as the silk socks that hug my legs. As breakable as the silence between us. He settles on the ottoman before me, legs spread, heavy, spent cock between them and lifts my feet to his mouth. 

I sink more deeply into the chair, heart drumming, blood reverberating in my ears. It echoes the pulse in my shorts. He bathes the soles of my shoes with broad, lingering swipes of his tongue, never taking his eyes off me. There’s a flash of fuschia behind the curtain of his hair. A glint of knowing amusement. I ache for him. 

_Only him._

He renders me speechless, jealous of the attention he bestows the dirty underside of my shoe. The heat of his mouth bleeds through the leather and I repress a groan. Desire burns inside me and I wonder if my soul will survive this pyre. If there will be anything for the demon to claim once the time comes. 

Pleased with his progress, Sebastian tilts my foot with the same kind of delicateness I’ve seen him lavish on the broken creatures he finds on the manor grounds. He presses his lips to the toe cap, coating them with his ejaculate. Licking them as I feign disgust. Hungrily mouthing the vamp and throat of the shoe. Like a lover. Squeezing. Sucking. Smacking. 

“You foul beast,” I utter, dizzy with need. He bites my ankle correspondingly. A heady sensation crashes over me. The pressure becomes unbearable. Painful. I press my hand to my groin. Concealed friction is no longer enough. “Damnable fiend.” With difficulty, I unbutton my knickers and pull myself out. I fist my erection at the base, holding still. Killing a moan mid-throat. The room is stifling. There’s absolutely no relief. My hand doesn’t feel nearly as good as his lips. 

Sebastian wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Stands. I sit upright again, slowly stroking myself. I watch him, watching me with polite interest. As he breathes, his abdominal muscles tighten in a most appealing way. His cock hardens again for what I can only assume is my benefit. Then, I spread my legs to make room for him. “Get on your knees and make yourself useful.” 

His bow is purely disimpassioned, but I can see him licking his lips with the burn of lust flaring his nostrils. “In which way am I to serve the young lord, now?” He asks, kneeling, venturing beneath the fabric of my knickers to knead my thighs. 

He knows full well what it is I want and has no shame pulling it out of me. Unfortunately for the devil, I am a master of few scruples whose actions speak much louder than words. I lean forward, hand grasping a fistful of his hair and direct his impassive face to my cock. “Devour me,” I order, squeezing my length. Slippery, transparent pearls weep from the head and I beat it gently against his lips. The gossamer-like threads break and come together and break once more. 

I could spend this way if I keep it up. On his face. Soil his perfect mouth in small spurts. Smear it on his cheeks and chin. I groan, closing my eyes as I abuse myself faster. The miscreant wouldn’t even be bothered by my loathsome act, pervert that he was. No, he would be too happy to make a spectacle of himself. Use his demon’s tongue to lap it from his visage. 

But if I were to do it myself? Bathe him with my mouth to take him by surprise? To feel the twitch of curiosity in his muscles as I drag my tongue along the contour of his jaw. 

“Well?” I demand, waiting. His breath is soft, hot and inviting and has mine almost coming out in pants. “Get on with it.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

Faster than any human butler, rougher than that to which I’m accustomed, I’m turned around, my own knobbly knees sinking into the plush cushion where I sat a heartbeat ago. 

“What the deuce…” I curse over my shoulder. His hands are on my hips, pulling down my shorts. I’m completely exposed. Flustered when he uses his forefinger and middle finger to spread me apart. “What do you think you’re doing!” 

“You gave me a tempting order, young master.” He places the flat portion of his tongue just below my hole and licks his way up, slow in speed, agonizingly light in pressure. “Be thankful this is the way in which I’m choosing to devour you.” 

“Don’t! It’s… it’s improper.” I try to push his head away, but he’s firmly in place. I try to pull myself away, but he holds me fast. 

He laps at me, like a dog. Kisses it like a mouth, all tongue and lips and hot breath. Growls sounding from his chest. Moans as he licks up and down, up and down, set in with a frenzy. My legs shake from humiliation. From pleasure. “Don’t,” I repeat, with less conviction this time. 

His head rears back, triumphant. “You have not been proper this evening, my lord. Why start now? Why deny yourself this pleasure? The devil knows what dirty desires you keep to yourself.” 

I want to refute every word he says. My mouth opens in protest at the same time he spits. The dribble runs down my cleft, my testicles. I feel dirty. Befowled. The tip of his finger finds my hole again, rubbing it superficially. He spits again, louder this time. 

“That’s obscene, you--” my words come out angry and are cut off by a sharp gasp. He pulls me onto his face, tongue circling, flicking. He forces it past the tight ring of muscle, shallow at first, then harder, deeper. 

“Ahh -- Se-Sebastian!” Helpless, I surrender to his merciless mouth. Letting him alternate between quick, light licks and deep, strong, drawn-out ones. He wrings sounds from me I didn’t think I was capable of making. My head falls against the backrest. I’m holding on for dear life, nails digging, clawing at the upholstery. His finger joins his tongue, probing, thrusting. Crooking the tiniest bit. I’m about to ask why, then I’m forced to bite down on the chair, to scream into the velour. 

The world around me dissolves. I squeeze my eyes shut and stars dance there in the darkness. Wetness spills down the back of my thighs. My cock throbs, aches and before I can tourniquet the base to keep from soiling the chair, I come, untouched with a whimper that dies in my throat. The only thing I try to resist now is to mindlessly writhe atop of his face. I’m unsuccessful. I want it. I want more. I want him. Inside me. Fully inside me. 

My orgasm echoes in Sebastian’s red room. He comes up, slows his ministrations, his thumb soothes my back, tracing the brand left by the cult. “My lord,” he mocks, voice deep against the nape of my neck, “I wanted to savour my meal, you were rather quick.”

I’m breathless, heaving against the chair, unable to face him, but the ire in my voice is unmistakable. “You can savour me once I’m dead. Now fuck me, Sebastian.” 

He has the audacity to mock me. “Such greed, this evening, my lord.” He tries to pick me up but I slap his hand away. 

I secure my shorts around my waist and lead him to the chaise lounge positioned near the fire.  
“Come.”

He follows, a most submissive servant. 

“Sit.”

He obeys, hard cock jutting between his legs. 

“Good dog.” 

The look he gives me is somewhere between wicked and loathsome. The shadows of the writhing flames lick his face in a most accursed manner. It both enhances his beauty and makes him all the more inhuman. 

I lose my bottoms, letting them pool at my heels before stepping out of them. Carefully, I climb atop the chaise lounge, but stand. The heels of my shoes strain against the velvet and I hold on to Sebastian’s shoulders for support. He looks up into my eyes expectantly and I nudge my half-hard prick into his face, calling his attention to task. His mouth opens the slightest bit; an ‘o’ shape that could barely fit a thumb. 

“Bastard.” I glare at him from above, bringing my left foot atop the backrest. I force my cock into his mouth, past the silk of his wet lips. He keeps them wrapped tight, hollowing his cheeks as he applies a gentle suction to the head. “Nngh.” 

Predictably, his head starts moving forward and back, but I steady it, fisting the roots of his hair with more of a grip than necessary. Biting my lip, I thrust into him, shallow at first, then deep and deeper. I fuck his mouth, his smart, sensual mouth, happy for once that it’s too occupied, too full of me to make his brazen comments and damnable puns. 

Until it’s not. 

He groans low at the back of his throat and the vibrations fuel my pleasure. I give a muffled moan of approval and he does it again, deeper, hungry. Spit seeps from the corners of his mouth, running down his chin. If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d have thought him some kind of savage animal rather than a beast. 

It’s only when the distinct sound of suckling and slurping grows so loud that it overtakes my panting that I pull out, dizzy, cock warm and throbbing. 

My legs are still shaking as I sit on his lap, knees bracketing his hips. I rest my head on his shoulder trying to catch my breath. I synchronize it to his length pulsing against mine, trapped between our bellies. 

Time moves at an odd pace in Sebastian’s red room. For all I know, it’s the morning of my nuptials and my betrothed has come bounding into my chamber to wake me. I push it from my mind and mount my butler, sinking onto him, unprepared. 

The stretch is brutal, even if the natural slickness of his thick demon’s cock eases it in. Half-impaled, my nails are already bleeding him. He knows better than to soothe me with words and his hands rub circles on the small of my back. 

But I move his hands, bring them higher at either side of me. “Make the brand burn” I mouth into the skin of his shoulder, craving a different kind of pain to distract me. 

“My lord?”

He’s not hard of hearing. He covets my humiliation. Desires my orders, the more enigmatic, the better. So I say it again, not for his benefit, but because I like the way it sounds in my desperate, rasping tone. “Make the brand burn.” 

“Is that necessary, young master? One hard thrust and I can--” 

I cut him off, pulling away from his shoulder and look him squarely in the face. “Is it necessary for a demon to question his master?” My sigiled eye glows brightly, I see it reflected in his own. “Now, do it!” 

Immediately, the mark of the noble beast seers under his hand, more painful than it had originally. “Hotter!” I hiss, sucking in the surrounding air. “Hotter!” And I bear down. 

Tight. Snug. I feel his cock pulse inside me. My stomach bulges repulsively and I cram myself against him to avoid the sight of it. It’s a moment more before I can move properly. A moment before I issue another order. 

“Come now,” I whisper roughly into his ear, “but stay hard.” 

He does and I start to grind against him. His hands are on my bottom, encouraging, spreading me. Viscous fluid spills from my hole and down my thighs, loosening me. “Come more,” I demand, hips moving faster, circling, crashing into him. He does. “More,” I scream, squeezing my eyes shut.

He groans and pulls me to him. Crushing me, chest sweaty, thighs slick with dripping demonic semen. I bounce upon him, arms around his neck, flesh slapping flesh, the wet, squelching provoking us both. Our sex is heady, intoxicating in scent and sound. His hips piston into me with violence akin to defilement, cock pumping and cramming itself as deep as it can go. It’s too much. It’s not enough. 

“Seba--” I kiss his neck. “Sebasss--” I lick it. I bite it. “Harder!” My teeth break his skin as he complies. I pull his hair back and he exposes his throat, growling. My demon moaning as I suck his Adam’s apple. 

I’m screaming. I’m begging. “More! More! Fuck me, Sebastian! More! Come! Come!” 

“D-demanding,” he stutters humanly. He pulls me off and throws me on the chaise lounge. It’s wet, it’s sticky. He's spilling freely from my hole. I don’t care. It’s warm. He continues to spend. It’s slopping on my stomach, on the back of my thighs as my legs are brought up. He shoves in fast and it splashes against my ass. He folds me. Fucks me. Squeezes my ankles. They’re ready to snap. Fierce thrusts propelled by hunger and momentum. 

Head’s thrashing, my hand moves over my cock. Stroking. Pumping. Dizzy. Weak. Exhausted. My toes curl. I’m clenching. Clenching. Body taut and tense. “C-coming! Coming!” My words melt into whines. Into moans. My screams echo in the room as I spend. My eyes roll back and I’m not aware of my flickering consciousness, dimming, dimming, dimmed. 

When I wake again, I’m cradled in Sebastian’s arms. He pushes open my chamber door, then lays me on my bed. The curtains are still drawn and no light escapes from their periphery. He makes quick work of changing my clothes and dressing me in my nightgown before the weight of my comforter is pulled up to my chin. 

“You have time yet to sleep, my lord,” he whispers, face inches from mine. 

I turn over, away from him and get comfortable. “Fine. But no goodnight kisses, Sebastian. I know where your mouth’s been.”

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot was an unedited, experimental piece for me, but I thought I'd share it. 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think about it. 
> 
> xo


End file.
